


Ahead of the Game

by trillian_jdc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (But Not Permanently), A Halloween 13, Decapitation, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc
Summary: Greg is terrified when he finds something he'd never wanted to see sitting on Mycroft's desk. Then he realizes there's something he can do about it.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37
Collections: A Halloween 13 2020, Spooky Johnlock Collection





	Ahead of the Game

Greg stumbled over the threshold of Mycroft's office. The Diogenes Club was quiet at the best of times -- that was its purpose and requirement, after all -- but even for the somber, old-fashioned room, it was too quiet in the deserted space. There was no one present, not even any hiss of the air filters or murmured hush of staff movement. 

Mycroft's meeting place was intimidating enough during their occasional get-togethers, what with the old wood furniture and antique furnishings. Empty, the disconcerting feeling that something was very wrong wouldn't leave Greg alone. He felt a lone drop of cold sweat trickle down his back. As he anxiously scanned the room, peering through the dimness, he didn't even recall entering the club or the space. 

Why couldn't he remember why he was here? He did his best to do his job, to seek justice, to help others without attracting undue attention. He'd had enough of that previously. Now, finally, things seemed to have settled down. Although Mycroft had been particularly remote recently. Greg had noticed, but he didn't want to pry. Goodness knows Mycroft always had enough on his mind. He didn't need a ragged old copper adding to his worries. 

Greg purposefully prevented himself from fidgeting as he looked more closely into the cavernous space. A glint of light winked at him from the desk. He forced himself forward to find that the only thing on the surface was an elaborately decorated silver tea tray. His eyes scanned the surface, from handle to handle, only to stop abruptly in the center. Instead of cups and pots, the tray held the severed head of Mycroft Holmes. 

Greg's heart dropped to his shoes. He'd never truly thought of the dangers Mycroft faced, or that someone would ever get to him like this, ending his life and then displaying him like a trophy. His hand came to his mouth, covering his lips to prevent any sound from escaping. 

Mycroft's skin was bluish-white and fragile-looking, like a fish belly. Unable to tear his eyes away, Greg thought it would be chilly to the touch, and then he thought he wasn't going to think about it. The neck seemed cleanly cut, but a rivulet of dark red ran out from underneath, meandering across the finely chased surface on which it sat. 

Frozen for endless time, Greg stared -- until Mycroft's eyes opened and fixed on him. Then he crumpled to the carpet.

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is basically a nightmare I had. I blame Doctor Who, with the headless monks. But it won't get worse than this image, and there will be comedy and a happy ending ahead. Heh.


End file.
